Section 3.3: The Cartography of Truth
Part One

It is not down in any map;
true places never are.
Herman Melville

02 Septimus 6491
Battlestar Galactica; a moon near the former colony of Leo

"What? On screen!" Adama dropped the supplies report he'd been looking at and turned to face the big scanner screen at the front of the bridge. His heart thumped once, hard.

Three cones of light, jump-points, were forming a few hundred miles away. The Cylon basestars were dropping out of hyperspace on the other side of the small moon he was using to shelter the growing refugee fleet.

Dear Lords. Three. He might have been able to hold off one, but not three.

Tigh's mouth twisted into a hard grin. "Well, they've found us."

"Sir! Scanners indicate they launched Raiders as they came into normal space." Captain Omega touched his headset as he listened. "Telemetry reports they're scanning, but we've not pinged them yet."

Adama shot a glance at Athena, his heart contracting. He wished he could at least get her to safety. She turned to give him a brief, tight smile; she was frightened, he could see it, but she continued to work at her station. He was very proud of her. He was proud of all his children.

He squared back his shoulders, took a deep breath. "The moon is sheltering us for the centon, but once they move into a search pattern they'll see us. The fleet is too large to hide for long. Red alert, Colonel."

Tigh could roar like a bull when needed. "Battle stations!"

It was no comfort that Apollo had been right: the Cylons had indeed waited until Galactica had collected a large number of refugees. Adama allowed himself one glance at the scanner screen that was tracking the one hundred and ninety ships he'd gathered here, doubt filling him. Had he just done the Cylons' job for them and doomed his people to extinction? Well, no time to dwell on it. No time for doubt.

Adama let his hands tense and relax once, all the sign of perturbation that he could allow himself when the eyes of his bridge crew were on him, looking to him to lead them. "Our luck couldn't last for ever. They'll have been combing the systems for us."

Tigh snorted. "Probably knew we were here and just waited until we had enough ships collected to make it worthwhile, just as Apollo thought. You're right about not being able to hide this number of ships." He glanced at Omega, who was watching them, and nodded. The captain's upraised hand dropped. "First wave of Vipers launched, second wave's going into the launch tubes. Orders, Commander?"

Adama spoke quietly. "This is a fight to the death, Tigh."

"Yes. I figured that. Should we move the fleet to the Gemon rendezvous point?"

Adama shook his head. "The Cylons would just follow. No. This plays out here. Warn all the civilian captains and tell them they're to stay in formation, unless we buy it. If that happens, they're to scatter and run for it. They're on their own after that."

"I'm on it."

Adama raised his voice. "Omega, get through to Gaea and tell her to abandon the Danaus. They're sitting ducks out there. Get some Vipers across to escort their shuttles."

"Captain Gaea reports that most of her crew's on their way back, sir." Omega listened a centon, grimacing. "She's remaining on board, sir."

"Patch me through to her!"

Gaea, though, was unrepentant. "I've got two rail guns still operational, Commander. And some of those tinheads will have to pass me to get to you."

"You're dead in space, Gaea! This is suicide. They'll just blow you out of the sky."

Her face on the screen quirked into a half-smile. "Maybe. And maybe they'll ignore what they'll see as a wreck, until it's too late and I can take a few out for you." She added, expression sombre now. "The people here with me are all volunteers, Commander. We want to strike back, pay the bastards back a little for what they did to us. It's our right, as well as our duty."

Adama closed his eyes for a micron, blowing out a silent, long breath. There was no time left to do anything about it. He nodded. "May the Lords protect you, Gaea. Good luck."

"You too, sir." She cut the comm line.

Tigh grimaced, shaking his head, but he said nothing about the Danaus. "The Persephone has launched all her Vipers and is moving up on our port bow. The frigates have the fleet interdicted."

"Captain Finney has allocated one third of our Vipers to help the frigates protect the fleet, Commander." Omega was darting between command stations, reporting on the almost constant stream of data. "Third wave in the Tubes, sir."

Tigh looked at the screen, and he, too, lowered his voice. "Yeah, a fight to the death. We don't have much of a chance, Adama. We could really do with Apollo turning up with reinforcements right now."

Adama nodded. It was six days since his son had headed out to Demeter. He knew Apollo and Starbuck had reached it safely and what they'd found: the coded message told him that. Then yesterday the message ceased abruptly, and there had been only silence. Adama turned away to face the back of the bridge for a micron; it was easier to keep a control over himself if he could fool himself into thinking that no one could see his face. The Cylons had maybe had to search for this refugee fleet but they hadn't had to search for Demeter. The transfer station had been in fixed orbit for more than three centuries. If they'd gone back to finish off the station, Apollo wouldn't have had a chance...

Omega called him back to the immediate task. "Commander! Sensors show we're being scanned. They've picked us up, sir"

Adama took one deep breath and turned back to duty. No time now to mourn yet another son. "Then this is it. Prepare to engage all forces."




It's a fallacy to say that sound can't travel in space.

Even if it's technically true, and the vacuum out there sucks it all into silence, you don't need ears. You hear it inside your head: the shriek of engines pushed beyond their tolerances, the whoosh of flame, the explosion of force when Viper and Raider collide in the brief incandescence of white fire, the sharp rat-tat-tat of laser sabots firing and the deeper boom of the cannonry, the screech and clang of metal on metal, the screams of the dying as they're torn asunder in a flash of fire and sharp shards of bloodied bone.

Four centons later, when the pitifully few Vipers that he'd sent out there to be all that stood between humanity and extinction smacked into the wall of Raiders like so many blades stabbing into the same black armoured body, Adama watched his pilots' sacrifice and heard all of this, every sound, clear down to his bones.




Almost two centars and five skirmishes later, they were losing Vipers in the waves of attacks by the Cylon raiders and the Danaus was on fire again. Gaea still had her guns blazing at the attacking raiders, but the destroyer was undoubtedly finished this time; navigation and helm had been lost and the ship was drifting helplessly with barely enough power to hold her shields. Galactica and Persephone had had more luck.

In the last attack, the Galactica's laser cannon had successfully crippled the nearest baseship. It had come too close, from overconfidence or a belief in Cylon invincibility or to truly test Galactica's defences. The battlestar had taken one direct laser pulse hit from the now crippled baseship, but the damage was minimal, the fires already quenched, its ability to fight unaffected. The ship shook rhythmically under Adama's feet as the great laser cannons blasted out their pulsed charges, trying to get another major hit on the baseship. The other two hung back, relying on their deadly little three-man raiders to do all the damage. He was grateful—Galactica wouldn't be able to withstand both attacking at once—but their coyness concerned him.

It was possible they being held here, penned in, until more basestars could arrive and ensure the utter annihilation of mankind. It might be best to send the refugee ships on their way to the back-up rendezvous point at Gemon. Except there, no-one could protect them.

The rock and the hard place. He understood all too well what it was to be ground down between impossible choices.

Still, he'd taught the Cylons to respect Galactica. He was grimly satisfied about that.

"They're pulling back again, Commander!"

To regroup and attack again. This would be no more than another short respite before the raiders surged forward once more.

Adama kept his tone even. "Pull our Vipers back and give the pilots the chance to catch their breath."

"Done, sir." Tigh signalled to the Comms desk.

Adama dropped a hand on Tigh's shoulder. "Things are getting a little hot, old friend."

"That they are." Tigh grinned at Adama. "But we'll go down fighting."

Adama nodded, sober. "That we will."

Omega cut in. He sounded calm, as if he were reporting on the weather. "The civilian fleet's reporting in, Commander. No civilian casualties. They've managed to deal with the few Raiders that got through."

A good man, Omega. They were all good. Adama had never had a finer crew, and he was so proud of them all that his heart ached. He wished he could find the words to tell them. Instead he just nodded. "Good. Cease at firing at the basestar. It's helpless and we need the firepower elsewhere."

"Yes, sir."

For a few centons, Adama watched the Cylon raiders retreat towards their baseships and mass up again. Somewhere off to his right he could hear an officer counting off the remaining Vipers. He winced. They'd lost more than thirty.

"Can we hold them?" someone asked. Adama didn't see who and he didn't recognise the strained voice.

"No." Adama was careful to keep his tone thoughtful and quiet, but he wouldn't like to lie to them. "They're too many for us. It may take a few centars, but they'll wear us down."

There was a short silence on the bridge. Adama watched them straighten shoulders and set themselves; one or two reached out to the person sitting next to them to pat a hand or arm, or exchange a glance, and many of them, far too many of them, including his Athena, turned to look at him with such trust in their faces and such resolve that he felt shamed, somehow. They knew now what they faced. He was so very proud to be their commander.

"Well, as you said, sir: we'll fight." Omega gave a nod. "Here they come again."

"Divert more power to the forward shields." Adama clamped a hand onto the rail surrounding the command dais, to guard against the shocks and tremors to come. "All batteries commence firing as soon as they're in range. Keep the Vipers back until we're fully engaged."

"The baseships are moving up as well, sir." Sergeant Rigel spoke up from the deep range scanner. Her voice trembled, but he could see the effort she made to control it. It was her first tour of duty, Adama remembered. She was doing well. "They're moving into laser cannon range."

Moving in for the kill, damn them. Well, he wasn't going to go down easy and they'd have to damn well fight for it.

Adama brought his other hand onto the rail to steady himself. He was pleased to see that it didn't shake. "Tell the gunners to fire at will. Have the fire teams stand ready."

"Done, sir." Like everyone else, Omega turned to face the screens, to watch their enemy close in.

He wasn't the only one watch the screens in trepidation or resignation, but one pair of eyes had obviously never left the scanners. "Jump-points forming!" Rigel yelled. "Three... no. Five. Five jump-points, sir!"

Damn everything to hell! Five more ships. That meant certain death; and now, not centars away. They just couldn't fight so many. They couldn't.

Adama straightened up. "Where? Omega, get ready to send the signal to the fleet to scatter."

"Right on top the basestars, sir." Rigel's shaking hands flickered over her keyboard and the image leapt up onto the screen. Five multi-coloured funnels of energy were forming within a few miles of them, portals through which the ships were coming out of hyperspace just above and behind the advancing baseships.

"Dear Lords." Adama raised one hand, ready to signal Omega, watching as the ships materialised.

Wha—? He stared, frowning.

"A destroyer!" Rigel screamed in sudden, disbelieving delight. "A destroyer! It's one of ours!"

The destroyer was the first of the new arrivals to materialise into normal space, right behind one of the baseships. The laser cannons mounted on each side of her prow were already firing, and the baseship in its path vanished in an enormous explosion. The destroyer, a twentieth the size of the Galactica, sailed majestically through the fireball. Battered, hull-scarred and shiny with laser tracks from previous battles, she came through unscathed. She was surrounded by a haze of black spots that raced across the sky to join the Galactica's beleaguered pilots. Vipers. More Vipers. Not many, but every little helped. And from the other jump-points came a frigate and three corvettes, all with Viper escorts and all firing their laser cannon at the unsuspecting enemy. Taken by surprise, the advancing wave of Cylon raiders faltered and broke. The last basestar sheered off and led the retreat, pulling back beyond the moon.

Adama heard himself laughing out loud. He wasn't the only one.

"I don't believe it!" Tigh pounded on the bridge rail beside Adama as cheers of joy and relief broke the tension on the bridge. People were leaping up and down at their stations, hugging and crying. "I don't damn well believe it!"

Omega's normally quiet voice was a shout to be heard over the noise. "The destroyer ID's as the Persia, Commander. The frigate's the Triton. The Persia's hailing us."

"Patch them through."

Hold the noise down, people!" Tigh roared. As the corvettes swung round and headed towards the refugee ships clustered behind the Galactica, he scowled at the screen. "It must be Demeter. It has to be Apollo."

"We're through, sir. The Persia's on screen." Omega called, and Adama turned to face the screen.

It was Apollo. He nodded a greeting, grinning, but he spoke with very proper formality. "Commander Adama."

"Apollo!" For a micron Adama was so relieved he was almost dizzy with it. In the background he heard Athena's squeal and he briefly closed his eyes against the sudden stinging in them. He still had his son. He still had Apollo.

And now they had a chance. Now they had a fighting chance.

"You were expecting someone else?"

"We'd given up hope of seeing you."

Apollo looked and sounded tired. "Sorry it took so long to get back. There was a lot for to do at Demeter. Far more people and ships survived than we thought possible and Captain Lucia there was doing a great job of organising them to get away. But we had to wait for the repairs to complete here on the Persia and then just as we were leaving, the Cylons turned up and tried a blockade. We had to fight our way through. It took us some time."

Adama smiled, breathing easy for the first time in days. Apollo was alive and he'd brought them the help they desperately needed. "I'm glad to see you, son."

"Glad to see you, too. We got here a few centons ago, but I thought it was better to wait until the basestars committed themselves before coming in behind them where they couldn't see us. Sorry if that gave you a few more bad moments."

Tigh snorted. "You'll get no complaints from me. It worked."

"Thank the Lords." Apollo looked away for a moment, gesturing to someone on the Persia's command deck who was out of the screen. "Send the signal, Starbuck." He turned his attention back to them. "Commander, there's a Lieutenant Heider in command of the Triton; he'll report to you for orders in a centon. I've ordered the corvettes to help protect the refugee ships. They're loaded with MI and too lightly armed for a frontal assault but they should be able to help hold the raiders off."

"That's sensible. Thank you, Captain."

"Demeter's surviving Vipers have orders to use you as base and put themselves under your command. Captain Lucia is the senior pilot. Starbuck's transmitting all the call signs to you."

Adama glanced over to where Tigh was conferring with Omega, saw Omega raise a hand in acknowledgement. "Got it. How many Vipers?"

"About three dozen. I lost a few getting past that blockade and I'm keeping the Persia's Vipers with me, for now. The Danaus looks a mess."

"We'll lose her, this time."

"And we could have used her, too, dammit." Apollo did a sort of half-shrug. "I'd better be moving right along."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get that crippled baseship, sir." Apollo was all politeness. "With your permission, of course."

Adama chuffed out a laugh, feeling better than he had for a secton. "Permission granted and I'll send the Persephone along. Be careful."

"I will."

The connexion was cut and the Galactica bridge watched as the Persia bore down towards the nearest baseship, laser cannons blazing. A dozen Vipers fanned out ahead of her, engaging the Cylon raiders.

Tigh took a deep breath. "Adama, I don't mind telling you that I never expected to see him again."

"Nor did I." Adama bent his head for brief prayer of thankfulness. When he looked up again it was to see his daughter at the base of the dais steps, her hands lifted up to clasp the rail. Her eyes were shining, the tears still tracking down her face. But she was smiling and he hadn't seen anyone smile like that for days. If Adama stretched down he could just reach to rest his hand on her dark head and smooth her hair, so he did. Her eyes filled with tears again, but the smile didn't falter.

Then Adama turned his attention back to the battle he had still to fight. "All right, ladies and gentlemen. The situation's changed. Let's make best use of it. Omega! Patch me through to that frigate and get me Captain Crane on the Persephone..."




"It's over, Adama! We've got them running." Tigh bounded up the steps to join him on the command dais.

Adama watched the screen. Two baseships destroyed, the third heavily damaged and retreating slowly before the steady advance of the Persia and the Persephone. It hadn't opened a jump-point—that suggested its faster-than-light engines were off line and damaged.

"Do we pursue?"

"No." Adama shook his head. "No. I think we'd better conserve our forces. I don't want all our people following that dead duck and finding that more Cylons sneak in behind us after we've left the fleet unprotected. It can't harm us for the moment. Bring the pilots in, Tigh. You'd better do a count as they come in. Get me a status report on the Danaus and see if we can raise Gaea. Pull back the destroyers. Tell the civilian captains to stand down to yellow alert and order them to follow us—we'll move to the Gemon site immediately and catch our breath there. I can't shake the conviction that more Cylon ships will be on their way here. Then I want a damage report and.."

"I know the drill." Tigh laughed at him and Adama let him get away with it, merely grinning with his own sense of release and relief.

They weren't going to die today, anyway.

They moved into hyperspace within ten centons. The bridge was busy, but there was none of the almost frantic atmosphere of before. They'd come through, and everyone was quietly grateful. Adama even saw one or two people smiling. They had arrived at the Gemon site and he was reading through the damage reports when Tigh approached him again.

"I've just had the headcount from Captain Finney. We lost forty-two pilots, Adama."

"Dear Lords." Adama bowed his head for a moment. For an instant he saw it in his mind's eye, the clash of Viper and Raider, ending in the flash of white fire. The way that Zac—

"Finney will compile a casualties list for a Midnight Watch when we can schedule one."

Adama pushed the grief away. No time. No time for Zac and none for Ila. "As soon as we can do it, Tigh. We owe it to the dead. They shouldn't be allowed to go unmarked."

"No. But it may be a couple of days, Adama. We're swamped with the living right now."

Well, that was a nail hit true on the head. The dead would never begrudge them that. His own beloved dead wouldn't begrudge him his joy in still having Apollo and Athena with him. Adama nodded.

"But you're right, Adama. As soon as we can. The good news is that we have two hundred and sixty-two pilots on board, with a further nineteen on the Persephone and ten on the Persia."

"Well, now. That's a goodly number, Colonel, and better than I was expecting given our losses."

"Certainly improves the odds. I'll have to get Lieutenant Starbuck to tell me by how much. We've not had any civilian losses and the fleet reports only light damage." Tigh looked at the screen, at the battle-scarred destroyer which had just taken up station off Galactica's starboard bow . Persephone was on the port. "Apollo and Starbuck are on their way over here on a shuttle. They'll be coming in on Alpha bay in about five centons." He grinned. "You can get there in time to meet him if you get a move on."

Adama only hesitated a micron. He laughed and took Tigh's advice, snagging his daughter en route. When it came to it, he was capable of quite the turn of speed. He and Athena were both breathless when they tumbled out of the turbolift on Alpha deck, but the shuttle carrying his son was just settling onto the decking.

If anyone was going to welcome Apollo home, it was going to be him. But when Apollo stepped onto the deck, looking worn and tired and, it had to be said, smelling like he hadn't showered for days, Adama found that the words he wanted to say died on his lips. Instead he pulled Apollo into the sort of embrace his skittish son usually avoided and rested his face in Apollo's dark hair, wordless thanks to the Lords of Kobol welling up in him.

The best thing? Apollo sighed and let him.

Adama didn't even mind when Athena barrelled past him and hurled herself on the graceless Lieutenant Starbuck. He could forgive that. He could forgive anything, with Apollo home and safe.

"So," said Starbuck, grinning. He disengaged himself from Athena and threw Adama a sloppy salute. "What time does the party start?"





03 Septimus 6491
Battlestar Galactica: morning command meeting.

Apollo took an extra few centons before he left his quarters, to smooth down his clean uniform and check it looked all right.

For a while, he stood looking into the mirror. The face looking back at him had seen so much since first he'd put on a uniform and taken his oath to protect his people from harm. It had seen too much, and he looked as old and tired as he felt. But he couldn't argue that he looked better for a shower and a full night's sleep and the Lords alone knew that he'd been so weary the night before, he'd have slept through an alert. Or possibly two.

The battledress and flight jacket he'd lived in for the last secton were flung over the bottom of his bed. Corporal Bren would see about getting them cleaned up. His Shield insignia was pinned inside the stand-up collar of the battledress where it had lived, hidden, for over two yahrens now. He unpinned it and put it carefully into place on his clean uniform.

Openly on his black battledress, at the throat just above his breastbone.

Where it belonged.




Shield Captain Apollo got more than one startled look in the Commissary where he stopped off for breakfast. No more than an amused grin from Starbuck, of course, and the odd wry look from the old Galactican pilots like Boomer and Jolly, but the other officers there, the new ones who hadn't been Galactican before (but who were Galactican now) and didn't know him... well, some of them frankly stared.

Apollo ignored it. Shield was used to being stared at. He collected his meagre breakfast and gathered up his friends in one move, signalling to Finney and Lucia to join him.

"Well," said Finney, taking a seat on the other side of Greenbean. He nodded at Apollo's uniform. "That explains a lot."

"A declaration of independence, Apollo?" Boomer was looking more relaxed than he had in days. He'd worked hard and never complained, except at being left behind from the Demeter reconnaissance, and was patently glad to have Apollo and Starbuck back again.

"No. I've kind of lost track of the days, but we have to be in Septimus by now and I was due back in Shield on the first. I've made it official, that's all." Apollo smoothed down one black sleeve. He gave Finney a tight grin. "Besides, that means my Fleet uniform can be recycled by the Quartermaster. Every little helps."

Starbuck lifted a face that had been scowling down at the thin rations on his plate. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. "Does this mean you get your promotion, too?"

"I shouldn't think that matters any more, Starbuck. Nothing like that matters any more."

"I was just thinking that Fleet doesn't have majors, that's all."

"I'm not Fleet." Apollo downed the weak caff that was all that was on offer. It tasted foul. He looked at Finney and Lucia. "Command meeting in half a centar. We'd better get to the Duty Office to prep for it."

Lucia looked startled as she jumped up to follow. Starbuck patted her on the arm in true consolatory fashion as she passed. "Only the uniform changes," he said, and Apollo saw his mouth twist into a grin that almost looked genuine. "The inner man is distressingly constant."




If Apollo expected to provoke a similar reaction out his father, he was doomed to disappointment.

Tigh raised an eyebrow and promised that he and Apollo would discuss the matter later, but his comment lacked bite—there were far more important things to worry about and they both knew it. Anton laughed aloud and reminded Apollo, gently, about their discussion at the Graduation ceremony about subtlety, my dear boy, in all its manifestations. But the old man was smiling and indulgent. He looked complacent, although Apollo had no idea why. Crane was already in the briefing room and didn't react much more than with a slight widening of the eyes and a nod. Remarkably Gaea was there too, hair singed and blackened and one arm in a sling, but she seemed too introspective to notice anything much; Apollo had heard that she and the two surviving crew had been taken off the Danaus before it blew, but he'd thought she'd still be under Salik's care in Life Centre. She looked like she ought to be.

His father though gave him a long, blandly neutral stare and then got on with business as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He welcomed Lucia and started the short debrief on the previous day's engagement. Apollo sat back and let Finney report back on the battle, supported by Lucia where she could add more detail from her perspective after the Demeter contingent joined. He chipped in his own report on the Persia's activities and added to Lucia's more faltering account of Demeter.

"Half of Demeter was vaporised and the other half wrecked and open to space. It was astonishing that there were any unvented compartments, or even that the station could still hold in orbit. Everything forward of Dock Twenty was gone."

Adama said, voice sombre, "Everything?"

"Yes." Apollo took a deep breath. "Shield's gone."

A sharp look and a nod, and they moved on to talk about how long they might have in safety at this new site before the Cylons found them again ("A day or two," said Apollo. "At most. They'll have the stardrive ion trails to follow. We might as well have left them a route map with a flashing neon 'This Way' sign on it."), getting out pickets to watch for Cylon activity, the last few refugee ships joining the fleet, and the supply situation and the feasibility of foraging expeditions to what was left of the Colonial planets.

"I've been back to Caprica," Adama said, and Apollo couldn't help his head jerking up in surprise. "The atmosphere's worse. Dust clouds make it almost impossible to breathe and the sun can't get through it, and the radiation levels are rising to lethal levels. The other planets are the same. Even aside from the danger from Cylons, any foraging expeditions we send will have that to deal with, too."

"But the bottom line is that we won't have food enough for our people for more than a few days." Anton didn't often allow his feelings to show, but there was no denying the old man was worried.

"If that. But the real bottom line, Anton, is that Cylons are back in the star system. They will find us. We can't stay here."

"With nowhere to go." Crane spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Nowhere definitely decided yet," conceded Adama. "I have some thoughts on that head but I'm not prepared to share them just yet." He turned off his datapad with a snap. "We will reconvene back here in two centars and make a decision about when we leave and what our heading will be. In the meantime, we need to carry out a supplies survey of each ship. The refugee captains have been compiling a census of the people they have on their ships and that is nearing completion, I believe. But we need a deeper and better understanding of what resources are available to us on each ship in the fleet. Finney and Lucia to start work on that, please. Liaise with the bridge captains to get the ship lists and come back with a preliminary schedule. Shield Captain Apollo..."

"Sir?" The sound of his full title on his father's lips was startling, but good; a sort of vindication.

"Remain behind, please."

Tigh and Anton kept their places. The rest filed out, Finney giving Apollo a sympathetic look. But whatever his father wanted, it wasn't condemnation. Instead, Adama leaned forward and touched the shield at Apollo's throat.

"All of them gone?"

"None at Demeter could have survived if they were caught docked. The rest—" Apollo shrugged, trying to keep his face from showing everything; from showing anything at all. "I don't know. I'd hoped that some might hear my signal, but there's been nothing. It's possible some heard but figured it was a trap and just kept on going."

"Into Cylon territory."

"Yes. To do as much damage as they can before they're destroyed."

"Rosie?"

Apollo swallowed against the lump in his throat, forced his tone to remain even. "I don't know. Lucia didn't know what Shield ships were in at Demeter and the computer systems there were shot. I couldn't get at the data. So, she either went there if the Hype was caught in dock, or will soon. She's gone, along with the rest of them. Looks like I'm the only one you've got."

Adama nodded, tapped the Shield gently with finger. He sat back, and blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Apollo. The Regiment has a long and proud history and I admired it greatly. We'll miss Shield. The Lords know, we could do with them here." He looked tired. They all looked tired. He made a gesture at Tigh and Anton. "We've spent the last few centars talking, trying to come to some conclusions about how and where we move the refugee fleet. The logistics are the real issue, after the risk of attack."

Apollo would have liked to put his head in his hands. The logistics of supplying and protecting the refugee fleet were so daunting it made him feel sick. He moistened dry lips. "Maybe MI can help. They're equipped for dirt-side operations."

Tigh reached for another cup of caff. "What do we have there?"

"One lieutenant and about a dozen non-coms; maybe sixty, sixty five troopers."

Tigh sipped the caff. From the way his mouth twisted, the caff had to be nearly cold. "Not a lot of them to resupply the needs of over a hundred thousand people."

"No." Apollo sat back. "No."

"We need that survey done quickly," said Anton. "We have to know how many people we have and what our resources are."

Adama agreed. "Keep on top of it, Apollo."

Finney and Lucia had been given the task, though. Apollo frowned.

"It... this..." And once more his father touched Apollo's Shield. "This may actually help us resolve one issue we discussed last night. A priority is to get this ship working effectively. I'm awash with Fleet captains at the moment, and I have to find roles for everyone."

Apollo stiffened. He wished he hadn't done it so obviously, but he couldn't stop himself. "Of course, sir."

"Tigh and I thought about offering you the Persia. You've earned your own command, Apollo, and it's overdue."

Jolted, Apollo looked down quickly to hide a grimace.

"But Gaea's a better fit there, to be honest. She's a seasoned destroyer commander and she'll slot straight in without any problem, better than she would here." Adama gave him a slight smile. "Do you want the Persia, Captain?"

"Erm, not particularly, sir." Apollo met his father's glance, saw the amusement there. He let himself relax. "No. I don't."

"And I don't want you there, for lots of reasons and most of them are selfish. I want you here on this ship, and so Gaea will get the Persia. But that means I have to square things with Finney and Lucia. They're both Strike Captains."

"We've worked together pretty well since... these last few days. No one's standing on rank right now."

"And by that I expect you mean that they've followed your lead without arguing and you're comfortable with it." Anton's faint knowing smile could be a bit irritating, if Apollo were honest. "You like control, my boy, and you're on your home turf, able to be decisive and take the lead. They're both on alien soil and off balance. Of course they defer to you." The smile broadened. "That's not a bad thing, but it's best to be clear about the dynamic here. And it won't last, as they find their feet."

Apollo gave Anton a tight twitch of the lips in response. No one could call it a smile, but it seemed to amuse the old man.

"And no one's standing on rank right now because they know we absolutely have to get our people to safety and nothing else matters." Tigh pushed his empty cup away with another grimace. "But it's untidy, Captain. And it's not sustainable. You'll start falling over each other if there's no clear cut line of command and no structure."

"And now we have to add the Infantry into the mix," said Adama. "Not a lot of them, perhaps, but quite frankly, I don't know what to do with them. You've worked with ground troops, though."

"Shield's as much... was as much about ground operations as flying."

"Yes. That's what I meant."

"Not really the sort that Infantry do, though. There's a big difference between an infiltration mission and a ground assault."

Anton struck in: "But still, you'll have a better idea than either the Commander or Colonel Tigh, Apollo."

Apollo looked from one to the other. "So, what are you proposing, sir? That I take on the Infantry? But what about my pilots?"

"You get both." Tigh grinned. "Lucky you."

Both? How in hell was that supposed to work?

"I reminded your father and Colonel Tigh that you aren't a Fleet officer, Apollo, and never have been, and one way around our current dilemma would be to use that to our advantage—particularly in the light of Shield's habit of trying to outdo both of the other arms of the services at once. That gives you the sort of experience that's denied to a mere Fleet officer." Anton's smile was positively Machiavellian. "I hadn't anticipated that you'd wear your Shield uniform this morning, but it delights me that you did. There's nothing like a visual for ramming home a point."

"I'd also forgotten about your promotion, until Anton reminded me." His father looked apologetic. "But it solves our dilemma."

"Fleet doesn't have majors."

"No, but Shield did and you, as you delight in reminding me, are a Shield Warrior." Adama sat back. He looked sly, Apollo decided. "So. We've decided that we will treat the Persephone and the Persia as destroyers have always been treated by Fleet: as semi-independent adjuncts to a battlestar, each with a strike force of fifteen Vipers. Each destroyer will take two frigates each and be responsible for the defence of one segment of the refugee fleet."

That made sense. Apollo nodded.

"That leaves the pilots here and MI with their three corvettes. And that's where you come in. All will come under your command, Apollo, Fleet and Infantry alike. Finney and Lucia will report to you here on the Galactica and Lieutenant... what is the MI Lieutenant's name?"

All of them report to him? All of them? Apollo, still trying to catch up, frowned. "Tomas, I think. I did speak to him at Demeter but all I said to him was to get his troops onto the corvettes because we were leaving. There was no time for pleasantries."

"Tomas. Yes, that sounds right. Well, he'll report to you, too."

And good luck getting him to agree to that without an argument. MI would balk at taking orders from Fleet.

"This will all be effective immediately. As to what rank we give you—" Adama stopped, shrugged. "I can live with Shield Major, but you'll be addressed by the rank in full." He smiled. "I don't suppose you'll object to that."

"No, sir." Apollo had never expected his father to be as sanguine about him being in Shield. It was disconcerting, to say the least. "No. It'll be good to get my full rank back."

Adama's nod was the smallest acknowledgment of that long running grievance. "I thought so. We both win, then."

"Thank you, sir."

"You'll remain third in the chain of command here on Galactica and continue to report to Colonel Tigh and me. All right?"

"I think so." Apollo paused and nodded, still trying to wrap his head around it. "Yes. Fine, sir. Thank you."

"You'll have to manage without a major's insignia." Adama smiled thinly. "But then, Shield uniform is distinctive enough."

Apollo touched the Shield at his throat. "This is all I need."

"I know. I've always known, Apollo." Adama reached forward and took the tiny captain's pins from Apollo's collar, and handed him two Galactica insignia instead. "But wear it with these." His smile was still thin, wintry, and Apollo thought that maybe for his father, this was a bitter-sweet thing to do, to finally capitulate about Apollo being Shield. "As a compromise between your sensibilities and mine."

He could do that. Apollo nodded, wordless, holding the little silver eyed-pyramids in the palm of his hand.

"I've sent for Lieutenant Tomas to join our meeting when we reconvene and I'll make the announcement then. After that, you'd better go away and organise the squadrons and work out what you want to do with the Infantry. Recommendations to Colonel Tigh as soon as you can do it." His father dropped the captain's pins onto the table top. One spun and skittered across the polished wood. "But there's another matter that we need you to work on. What do you know about Earth?"

"Earth?" Apollo blinked again, flummoxed. Maybe he really hadn't had enough sleep, if his father could wrong foot him so easily and do it twice in ten centons. He closed his hand over the Galactica pins; the points pricked his palm. "The legend of the thirteenth Tribe, you mean?"

"Yes. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing more than it says in the Book of the Word. When the Lords abandoned Kobol, the twelve Tribes were brought to this quadrant of the galaxy and after wandering for centuries found their way to this star system and founded the Colonies. The thirteenth Tribe didn't come with us for some reason, and went a different way to found their own colony on a planet called Earth. It's part of the original Exodus story. That's all I remember."

"There's nothing in any of the historical texts and sources that you knew at the Kobolian? Nothing in any of the archaeological finds since?"

Apollo shook his head. "No. Well, it's not my area of interest but I'm pretty sure I'd remember anything significant. There may be something, of course, but it'll be pretty obscure if it's not jumping straight to mind."

"A pity."

"But not unexpected, Adama," said Anton. "There's very little about Earth, even in the Book. Many people believe it's a myth or a parable."

Apollo glanced from one to the other. Adama wore the beatific expression familiar from all too many of Apollo's childhood Tenthdays spent in the Temple, Anton's expression was neutral and Tigh wouldn't look at anything other than his clasped hands on the table top. Dear Lords. This was the thought Adama was having about where they could take the refugees. No wonder he didn't want to share it. "You want to take the fleet to Earth."

Adama nodded. "I can think of no better haven for our people than to find our brothers from Kobol and seek sanctuary with them. We share a common heritage and a common reverence, I would hope, for the Lords."

Oh Lords. A religious crusade. That was just what they needed on top of total annihilation.

Sceptical as he was, Apollo chose his words carefully. "If Earth does exist, sir, how do we find it?"

Apollo knew that look on his father's face. Adama set his chin into 'stubborn' mode. "Perhaps the clues we need will be at Kobol."

Well, good luck with finding that, too. Apollo didn't mean to be disrespectful and dismissive, but it had to show on his face, given the look he was getting from his father and the slight headshake from Anton. Really, what did they expect? These were myths and legends.

"And, Apollo, you're going to find Kobol for us."

Apollo almost laughed, but for the fact that the three men who ruled his life were sitting in a row watching him like hawks with their eyes on a particularly tasty bit of prey. The grin died on his lips. "Me? How?"

Anton was the most manipulative old man that Apollo had ever come across. "Didn't you tell me at the Graduation ceremony that what you'd like to do with your life is chart humanity's path back to Kobol? To carry on the star mapping of our path back across the galaxy to wherever Kobol is? Well, this is your chance."

This time Apollo held back the laugh out of kindness. "Mapping our way back, sir, involves a lot of excavation and a lot of time." He stopped, frowned, tried to explain: "Look, the Kobolian's been excavating settlement sites for the last four or five hundred yahrens, thousands of them. There's a massive amount of data on file that shows the sequencing of settlement foundation. With that I can track back to the earliest known sites and maybe I'll be able to see if it shows some sort of pattern, a possible direction of travel. But I would have expected that if it did, it would have been spotted and published by now. And we're talking about three dimensional space, so plotting a potential direction for the next settlement back along the path is going to be about ninety-percent guesswork."

Tigh scowled. "Hades! Does this mean another trip to Caprica?"

His father looked briefly amused. "That depends on how much of the Kobolian's database Apollo has already downloaded."

Which proved the old man knew him all too well. "Not enough, sir. I've got a lot of stuff because I was doing a revision of the History, but I don't have everything. Not everything I'd need to give it the best guess I can."

"In which case, then, yes. We'll have to find time for you to take a quick trip to see if the Kobolian data is retrievable. If it isn't, can you make a recommendation based on what you have?"

Damn, but his father was relentless. He made a helpless gesture, raising his hands and dropping them.

"This is important, Apollo. The Lords established Earth as well. I can't believe that they'd hide it so completely from us when one day we might need to establish contact. If I believe one thing, it's that they prepared for every eventuality and would never close it off. They will have left clues to help us. We just have to find and decipher them."

"Sir, with all due respect that's a matter of religion, not archaeology."

And didn't that go down well?

Adama flashed him a quelling, angry look. "Be that as it may, it's our best option right now for a permanent home for our people. Make it a priority, Shield Major."

And this time his full rank didn't sound nearly as good, as close to a smack down as Adama would deliver in public. Apollo wondered just how many priorities he had right then—find Kobol, sort out the military, survey the ships, work in finding supplies, protect the fleet. And that was just for starters. Maybe Salik would release his iron grip on the stims for a few days.

He inclined his head, defeated. "Yes, sir."

"And for the moment, this is classified."

"I thought it would be, sir." Apollo glanced at the clock on the wall above his father's head. "I've got a little while before we reconvene with the others. I'll go and see what data I've got. With your permission, sir."

"Granted."

He was almost at the door.

"Oh, and Apollo?"

He turned. "Sir?"

"There can't be much of a celebration, but congratulations on your new rank."

His father meant it. His expression had softened, and he was looking more kindly, a little proud. Anton beamed at him, and even Tigh gave him a nod.

Apollo drew a deep breath and let it out in a long soundless sigh that he hoped they didn't notice.

"Thank you, sirs," he said, and went out to start delivering the impossible.